


Set It Free

by ACuriousParadox



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Charleston Shoe Thieves (Blaseball Team), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29967789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACuriousParadox/pseuds/ACuriousParadox
Summary: What happens when you lose the one you just realized you love?
Relationships: Snyder Briggs / Hotbox Sato
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8
Collections: Charleston Shoe Thieves Fanfiction





	Set It Free

**Season 13 Day 20**

No one really wanted to get too close to Snyder Briggs, not because they didn’t care, but because they were as on fire as anyone had seen in a long time. But Snyder had to find Esme in the clubhouse. They made sure to keep enough distance as to not burn her when they approached.

“How do you get people to inhabit you?”

Esme looked up from unlacing her cleats. “What?”

“You can get dead players to inhabit you. How do you do that?”

Esme sighed. “It’s not something that I choose to do or can control, it just sort of… happens.”

Snyder stared through Esme, with blank, glassy eyes. “I need to talk to it.”

Esme turns away from them. “Snyder, I can’t-”

“I never told it I loved it.”

The clubhouse is quiet. They haven’t seen an active thief get delaced in 10 seasons, and no former thieves in 6 seasons.

Esme starts to speak, but Snyder interrupts her again. “Just… just tell me if it comes back. Please.”

Esme nods, but Snyder is already making their way towards the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Season 13 Day 8**

Things had been going fairly well for Snyder and Hotbox. They had grown a lot closer over the siesta, and had even expanded The Smokehouse Gang to include members outside the Shoe Thieves. Snyder had always seen Hotbox as one of their closest friends on the team, but they had recently begun to feel unfamiliar feelings when they were spending time together. They were intrigued by these feelings but decided that it wasn’t something that needed looking into. If they continued, they could always bring them up to Hotbox later. 

Hotbox started that game with a walk. Snyder could hear the flood coming before they saw it. Flooding had happened before to the Thieves, and it was obnoxious when the team was trying to get a rally going, but they had never had a player swept to the dreaded Elsewhere. Until Hotbox Sato got caught up in the Immateria and was carried out of the stadium.

It was in that moment that Snyder knew they loved Hotbox. Being forced to watch as their best friend was forcibly taken from them, and knowing there was nothing that could be done. That’s blaseball; you show up, play, tragedy happens, but you have to play through. Snyder looked back at all the time they spent together. All the TV they had watched with Hotbox lazilly draped over them, all the late nights talking about blaseball and life and nothing at all. And all of a sudden that was gone, and they didn’t know how long it would be gone for. Some players have returned in as few as three days, some as much as fifteen. Beasley Day was gone so long, it stretched between seasons, and they became scattered when they came back. Snyder didn’t want anything to happen to Hotbox. They resolved that they would tell it as soon as it came back, as long as it took. They had to let it know how they felt.

One day became two, became three, became five, became a week. Snyder hated how empty everything felt. It felt wrong at the start of every game, not seeing it leadoff. The outfield felt barren without the thin veil of smoke that often covered it. The nights were so cold, and no amount of heat Snyder could generate would help them. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Season 13 Day 19**

The game against the Magic seemed like any other. But just as Pudge stepped up to the plate in the 8th inning, Hotbox slowly floated up from the clubhouse and into the on-deck circle. Everyone was so happy to see it return safely, but it almost couldn’t seem to hear them. Snyder felt the tears of relief forming, and couldn’t wait to talk to it after the game about everything it needed to tell it, how much they missed it, and that they finally realized how they felt.  
Snyder could tell that something was off about Hotbox. It slowly floated to the plate, barely grasping its bat in its smokey hands. It watched three straight pitches sail by before dragging the bat across the plate, making contact enough to send the ball between second and third. Even finding the gap, Hotbox’s smoke trail barely touched the bag before the ball thumped into the first base player’s mitt. Snyder didn’t like what they were seeing. This wasn’t normal for Hotbox, no matter what, it always seemed to try its best. But that spark was missing. The smoke had lost its fire.

After the game, Snyder ran up to hug Hotbox, but they phased right through. Hotbox usually hated people phasing through it, and it often created more of a form when interacting with more physical bodies. Snyder crashed into the floor, and as they turned up to Hotbox, they noticed that it was still looking straight ahead.

“Hey, Hotbox, you doing ok?” Snyder asked. The strange behavior of their friend suddenly outweighed any scrapes that may have been encountered on the clubhouse floor.  
Hotbox took a deep breath, if one could call it that. “I’m just… I’m very tired, Snyder…” its words trailed off like the smoke it was. “I was stuck in that place… for over a week…”

Snyder got themselves up off the floor. “Dang, I’m really sorry…” Snyder turned their gaze away, not knowing if they can say what they wanted to for eleven days straight. But no, they decided, they have to tell it now, they’ve waited too long. “Hey Hotbox, there’s something I really wanted to talk to you about…”

Hotbox shifted its gaze towards Briggs and sighed again. “Do you think it could wait til tomorrow? I don’t want to do anything but watch TV and fall asleep right now…” As it spoke, it lazilly drifted towards the couch.

Snyder swallowed hard, not even noticing the lump in their throat until now. What’s one more day, they thought? Joining Hotbox on the couch, they said, “Yeah… yeah we can do that for tonight.”

The warmth Snyder felt as Hotbox settled in, draping over them, was familiar, welcoming, and sorely missed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Season 13 Day 20**

On days when Snyder pitched, they typically got up and got ready early. They knew they couldn’t always perform as well as some of the other Thieves pitchers, so they had developed a routine to become the best that they could. They got up, ate two bowls of Whleaties, showered, and made sure to put on their lucky socks before the rest of their uniform. Then they liked to spend some time with a sloccer ball, just kicking it into a net they took to away games. It helped ease their mind. But there was no ease today. Snyder needed the game to be over as soon as possible, so it could finally tell Hotbox how they felt. 

The game was tense, tied at 3-3 heading into the fifth. Snyder was fidgeting more than usual on the bench, wanting to win, but mostly hoping for a fast game. They were glad that Hotbox was looking better, some of that fire returned as it stepped up to the plate. Before the first pitch was even thrown, one could see it burning inside of it.

Snyder Briggs could see Hotbox Sato on fire as a rogue umps eyes flashed with white.

Before they could even process it, they burst from the dugout, only to be tackled by Richardson Games. “You can’t!” he screamed, but Snyder couldn’t hear him. They had to make it to Hotbox, they had to do something. Hotbox turned to face Snyder, with the closest thing to tears it could make it its eyes.

“Synder, I-”

And it was gone.

Snyder exploded, in emotions as well as actual fire. The game had to be delayed, as remnants of their flames had to be doused in the stands and in the field. But of course, the game had to continue. Someone introduced virself to the team as Alx, and claimed that ve had helped Hotbox return from elsewhere. Ve took its place in the lineup. Snyder returned to the mound, still aflame. Nothing mattered. Not the game, not the team, and not themselves. They had just lost the only person they loved, and only a week after they realized that they loved it. 

As the saying goes, “If you love something, set it free.” Snyder had involuntarily set Hotbox free twice in twelve days, once for an indeterminate amount of time, and the other forever. They never would understand that phrase. They put their own spin on it: If you love something, hold it close and tell it. As often as you can. Because you never know when it will be the last time you’re able to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Season 13 Day 63**

Every player has a pre-game ritual. Something they do before each game, for luck, or for tradition, or whatever reason they find fit. Snyder would often whisper to themselves, to get them focused and in the zone to pitch. But their whisper changed. Every day since, whether they’re pitching or not, they whisper the words they never got to say. “I love you, Hotbox Sato.”

In the bottom of the second, in a game against the Lovers, Esme Ramsey stepped up to the plate. But she wasn’t herself. Each step she took became a little lighter, a little less solid. By the time Esme’s body was at the plate, waiting for the pitch, Hotbox Sato had fully inhabited her. 

At first, Snyder just stared, mouth gaping, familiar tears returning to familiar eyes. But Snyder knew their time was limited. Once it got out, Hotbox would return to the Hall of Flame for who knows how long. Snyder got their second chance. They burst out of the dugout, unconcerned with the consequences.

“Hotbox!” Snyder yelled as they tripped over themselves, trying to reach it. Hotbox turned and smiled. It had created a smokey appearance within Esme’s body, still solid, but ethereal and mysterious, much like the Hall itself.

“Hey there,” Hotbox said softly, as the first pitch sailed outside the strike zone. 

“Hotbox, I’m so sorry, I didn’t have time, I, I…” All of a sudden, the words that Snyder had whispered for 43 days straight escaped them.  
“It’s ok, I promise. Go ahead, I’m listening…” Hotbox winced as the pitch sailed over the plate. Snyder had seen their teammates flinch hundreds of times, but the sight still gave them shivers.

“Hotbox, I…. I love you. I love you so much and I miss you even more.” The tears on Snyder’s face were evaporating before they could leave their eyes.

Hotbox smiled again as the pitch bounced up into the catcher’s mitt. “I know, Snyder. I love you too. I’m sorry we never got to say it when we-”

Snyder couldn’t take it anymore. They wailed as they hugged Esme’s body close, not wanting to let go, not wanting to lose it again. Hotbox returned the gesture, as another pitch crossed the plate. 

“I’m always thinking about you,” Hotbox confessed. “Every moment in that Hall, I think about you and the team and how much I miss all of this. But I’m ok. I get to rest now.” Ball three.

Snyder sniffled as they pulled away from the hug. “When will I get to see you again?”

Hotbox shrugged as it made a weak slash at the ball, fouling it towards first. “I can’t say. But I will be back. I promise you that. Stay strong for me, Snyder. I love you so much.”

Strike four crossed the plate, and it was gone.

Snyder was left on their knees, while Esme came back to her body, perhaps more shaken from this haunting than usual. Snyder was burning the patch of grass underneath them, feeling so much in that moment. But they got to tell it. It knows, and it loved them too. Snyder would continue to whisper that affirmation before every game, looking forward to when they could say it to it again.


End file.
